This Thing We Keep
by thechinskyguy
Summary: When Lance finds himself kidnapped at the hands of Team Rocket, he expects a messy interrogation. Proton, however, has other plans for the captured champion. Lanceshipping, oneshot.


The Alistair Cafe just outside of Viridian had perhaps the most spacious outdoor patio seating of any restaurant in Kanto, with an awning that provided seclusion, yet not too much so as to block the warmth during the summer. It also happened to be Lance's favorite spot to conduct meetups to collect intel, when he was on official G-Men business. If he had to spend his weekends playing spy games, he figured he'd at least do it somewhere posh.

The heat bore down on Viridian stronger than usual. Even in the shade under the bright purple awning, Lance felt himself working up a sweat just from sitting. He glanced at his watch: 2:03 PM. A hair past when the Rocket informant was supposed to meet him.

"Damn," he breathed, tapping his foot. Dealing with Team Rocket didn't put him on edge anymore. Tardiness did.

Another minute passed before a tall, yet frail figure sat opposite Lance's table without a word. The Indigo champion gave the man a glance, saying nothing, not yet. He was plain clothed, just like him, but the face didn't register any familiarity. Probably some mid-level grunt he's never had the displeasure of meeting.

"Humid day today," the grunt mumbled, pretending to look at a menu. "Supposed to only get worse before the weekend's out."

Lance huffed, perusing his own menu. His eyes moved across the laminated tablet too quickly to give consideration to ordering something, but looking anywhere else would seem too suspicious, he reasoned.

Another moment of silence passed before the grunt coughed purposefully. "You did, uh, bring what we bargained for, right?"

He nodded silently. The deal had been communicated hastily earlier in the week, in a few brief emails from the grunt himself. From Lance, a commutation on prison sentences of six grunts locked away in Cinnabar Prison. From Team Rocket, reports on communications between Giovanni and his executive team, retrieved in what the grunt described as a "data mining mishap". He was told they'd prove key in deducing some of the gang's upcoming ventures, ventures that Lance knew he'd have to act quick in quelling.

The dragon master retrieved a manilla envelope from his bag, setting it in front of the grunt on their table. "In there is a commutation release form," Lance said, his first words to the grunt since his arrival. "I've already signed off noting my approval of the release of the six Rockets. You'll sign under where I did. Essentially to indicate your agreement to the terms as a representative of the defendants."

The grunt nodded slowly, scanning the document. "The terms?"

"As outlined in our emails. Once released, they're to have no further affiliation with Team Rocket, and will enter a specialized criminal rehabilitation program." He handed the grunt a pen from his pocket, clicking it open.

The man, a beaded sweat forming across his neck, pursed his lips and took the pen. His hand dragged the pen slowly across the stationery, looping blobs of black ink across the dotted line.

"There," the man said, shoving the document back in Lance's direction. "When can we actually expect them to be released?"

Lance shrugged, tucking the document away back in its folder. "A few days. Takes time for me to submit the form, have it processed. All the boring HR stuff."

"Any chance it could be expedited a tad? In the spirit of goodwill?" The grunt's fingers tapped without pattern against the table, the sweat from the daytime heat collecting in tiny little drops on the glass surface.

Lance shifted in his seat, feeling the sweat collect on his neck as well. "What's the interest, anyways? Not in the commutation, but on the deal in general?"

A waitress, not much taller than Lance in his seated position, ambled up to the table. "Have you taken a glance at our drink specials for today?" she asked, her feet bouncing in place with morning energy.

"I'll just take a water, please," Lance interjected, thankful to cut away from the awkwardness with the grunt for a moment.

"Nothing for me," the grunt said, his eyes directed from the waitress. She turned away without a word, skipping back into the indoor restaurant.

Lance took a napkin and wiped his head. The shade under the awning no longer felt welcoming in cool embrace, but subtle in its distaste towards those underneath it.

"Anyways," the champion said, "Why make this deal now?"

The grunt nodded himself to a second, ceasing his finger tapping to adjust his collar. "Besides wanting my friends out of jail?"

Lance nodded.

"Executive Proton directed these to be leaked. He made it seem urgent, but I took a look at the transcripts between Giovanni and the executives and I didn't get all the hubbub. But, you might make better use of them than I would." He pulled from his shirt pocket a flash drive, no bigger than his own knuckle.

Lance plucked the drive from his hand. "Mind if I run the files through here, before we leave?"

The grunt shrugged silently. Lance pulled his Poké Gear from his bag, inserting the drive into the bottom of the device. A file window popped up on the tiny LCD screen, but displayed nothing.

"What the hell?" Lance muttered, looking back up at the grunt. "The drive's empt-"

A second figure walked up suddenly, standing still behind Lance. A hand placed a cold, metal object against his head, nuzzling in the crook. Judging by the shape and the force, it had to be a gun. Around the corner, where the cross-section of the Viridian roads led to the downtown, a dark convertible pulled up, screeching to a halt with a slight kick of country dust.

"You set me up!" Lance shouted. His fist crashed against the table, sending his Poké Gear tumbling to the ground.

The grunt calmly stood. "Proton never wanted to bargain with prisoners and transcripts," he said. "Not with a much bigger player at stake." He gestured at the figure behind Lance. "Let's go, then."

Another nudge of the gun against Lance's neck got him on his feet. His vision scanned the area, looking for escape, or at least a path of least resistance. Could he disarm the grunt behind him? Would he be fast enough?

Maybe, he reasoned. But what if the first grunt had a weapon? What if there were more of them, waiting around the corner? He cursed under his breath; his pokemon were tucked away in his bag, now in the hands of the second grunt.

He blinked, sighing. His feet dragged unconsciously as the grunts led him to the vehicle, their hands pinned tightly around his upper arms. The heat felt so much stronger than he remembered, even after sitting in the shade for so long. He felt almost grateful when the grunts shoved him in the backseat of the convertible, each grunt sitting on either side of him; the A/C was on full blast.

The waitress, a single glass of water perched on her tray, returned to the patio, faltering in her skip when she found an empty table and a fractured Poké Gear on the concrete.

* * *

Of all the inconveniences of being kidnapped, the dullness of it all was by far the worst.

He sat facing an empty mahogany desk, backed only by a plush leather chair. His feet drew circles across the deep purple carpet in boredom, waiting for something to happen. The gold and maroon trims around the room shined with opulency, giving Lance the urge to vomit from the tackiness. As it did every time he found himself in this room.

The handcuffs locked loosely around his wrists looped between the rails of the wooden chair he sat on. With little slack in the chain between the cuffs, his elbows bent at an awkward, if not uncomfortable angle.

His bag lay out of reach against the desk. His legs, fully outstretched, couldn't even reach halfway. It hadn't been opened, as far as he could tell. Would his pokemon still be in there?

He sighed. "Hey!" he called out, unsure if anyone was within earshot. "Don't keep me waiting, damnit!"

Silence.

He knew the futility of attempting to break free; he might be able to break the chair under him, but then what? If Dragonite still sat in his poké ball, he could fly out the window pretty easily. But were his pokemon even in his bag still? If he broke out from his bonds and he was locked in the room, how would that play out once someone showed up?

The door behind him creaked open with a jolt before he could make a decision. Its hinges hummed a low tune under the light click of footsteps. A slender figure walked in, eyeing his catch up and down. A lock of blue hair stuck from the man's cap, his Rocket uniform a stark, gleaming black and yellow.

The man smirked, circling Lance in a vulturous fashion before approaching his desk. "Finally decided to answer one of my invitations, yeah?"

 _Not this shit again_.

"We've talked about this before, Proton," Lance said through clenched teeth. "You don't have to try and abduct me every time you want to talk. I gave you access to my fax line for a reason."

Proton gave an exaggerated pout, feeding off of Lance's annoyance. "That's not as _fun_ , though! You know I get off to this sort of thing."

"I don't do 'fun'," Lance said, "I do business. Now, either tell me what you want, or I'll break this chair. And maybe your arm, while I'm at it."

"Eeeeeasy there, champ!" Proton swiveled in his chair, giggling to himself. "I think you're getting a little worked up over nothing. I understand the implication, but-"

"You mean the implication of me being led here at gunpoint, and handcuffed to a chair in your office?" Lance interrupted.

Proton sat in faux thought. "Sure, let's go with that. Nah, this isn't high-stakes or anything. The messy interrogations are more Ariana's game."

"I'm fully aware."

Proton folded his hands daintily under his chin, looking curiously at Lance. The captured master only glared, feeling his brow tense in its frown.

"Well, can you tell me why I'm here?" Lance finally shot.

Proton shrugged. "Like I said, I could've just invited you here, but I'm not one for being stood up on a date. So I'm sure you'll excuse that I had to, well, take matters into my own hands." He stood, swinging his legs around the furniture so that he sat on the desk's surface, his legs crossed just a few feet in front of Lance.

"If you'd just offered to meet at the Alistair like I'd planned with your grunt, maybe you wouldn't have had to worry about that!" Lance fumed, letting his wrists poke at the keyhole in his cuffs. Still, nothing would budge, but all that frustration had to exert itself somewhere.

"No, see, that's not what I mean," Proton said. "There was never a deal, haven't you gotten that by now?"

"Bullshit! I had the commutation form signed and ready to go!"

Proton scooped up Lance's bag with one hand, plucking out the sealed folder that contained the document. With one jerk of his wrists, the folder tore in two, fluttering to the carpeted floor.

"There. Was. No. Deal," the executive repeated. "Honestly, I'm surprised we got you this time. Plans more expensive and elaborate than this never got past you before."

Lance grunted in defiance.

"I mean, you meet with a grunt somewhere that I'd barely even call a public place, you sign a commutation release form for prisoners that wouldn't even benefit us after you let them go, you willinglygo _alone_ to meet us - what were you thinking?"

"I get it, I get it," Lance said, rolling his eyes. "I'm an ignorant fool and fell right into your little _trap_ ," he inflected the last word with mockery. "Now, tell me what you want, so that I can maybe give it to you and maybe get the hell out of here!"

Proton sneered, standing and walking up to Lance slowly. "You don't understand what's going on, do you?"

The executive was mere inches in front of Lance now, placing the tip of his foot against the lip of Lance's seat, forcing the champion to shift his legs slightly wider.

"This isn't your conversation. You're not calling the shots." He leaned in closer to Lance's ear, the lips barely brushing the upper helix. "I am."

He gave Lance a gentle slap on the cheek, letting his gloved fingers slide against the skin before pulling away, sitting on his desk once more.

"I've had my eye on you for a while, Lance Luxforde," he purred, cocking his head to one side coyishly. "Leader of the G-Men, Champion of the Pokémon League, clan member of the Dragon's Den...that's a lot for a resumé, don't you think?"

Lance shivered at the way Proton rolled the L's in his name, almost as if he could sense the executive delighting in his discomfort. He squirmed a little in his seat, playing it off to keep him from noticing.

Proton's devilish grin grew wider, telling Lance that he was most certainly noticing. "Someone who's as big and bad and broodingas you are probably doesn't get out much, yeah? Hell, I probably ended up doing you a favor!"

"I get out enough, thank you," he muttered. His heartbeat fluctuated, his breathing shuddery. Proton's never been this forward, not like this. Between meetings out in the wild, at the League, even on Rocket territory...it's never been like this. The executive's hot breath seemed to linger over his ear, triggering the hairs on the back of his neck to rise.

"I wanted you here," Proton said, sauntering towards Lance once more, "because there's something to you that I envy. Something I've always wanted. Something I knew you'd never come to me willingly for." He stood inches in front of Lance again, looking down at him with a platinum glint in his eyes.

The pit in Lance's stomach only fell farther. "Hey, I'm not-"

"Shhhh," Proton placed two fingers over Lance's lips, silencing him. "Come now, I'm a big fan of yours. Think of this as a show of my appreciation." His free hand clamped onto Lance's shoulder, massaging it tenderly with the thumb.

"This is perverted!" Lance protested, snapping his teeth. Proton's hand recoiled away, if only slightly, before Lance's bucking legs kicked him away. The executive firmly planted his palms against Lance's thighs, effectively pinning him.

Lance thrashed his shoulders, his wrists straining against the wood backing of the chair to no avail. Proton's body, hovering over him menacingly, cornered him into the chair more than he already had been. He felt so...small.

 _So why do I almost like it?_

He slowed himself down, mustering himself to look back up at Proton. "This how you get your kicks?"

Proton only smirked, his hands still pressing down on Lance.

He sat up as much as he was allowed, taking another deep breath. If he chose his words carefully…

Lance tsked under his breath. "That's a lil greedy, don't you think? Especially when I could perhaps...let you do it right?"

"You're talking to a Rocket Executive, champ. 'Greedy' is in my job description."

"Uncuff me from the chair," Lance proposed, lowering his voice to invite an intimate deepness. "Let's do this somewhere else." He paused before raising one eyebrow. "You got your catch, right? Your greediness already got yourself this far."

Proton pursed his lips, squinting at Lance. "You're bluffing."

Lance chuckled, letting his eyes wander downwards before snapping back up. "It's like I already told you. You didn't have to abduct me to get what you wanted."

The executive moved a hand to Lance's chin, cupping it delicately. He let a gloved finger trail the ridge of the bone, curving along its sharpness. _This_ was what he'd wanted all along - and for it to fall right into his hands?

Proton giggled, practically sitting in Lance's lap. "I guess you win, dragon boy," he cooed, retrieving a small key from his back pocket. Leaning over the champion, he rested a chin on his shoulder as he reached behind his back, unlocking the first cuff.

Lance said nothing, feeling Proton's body weight mount on him. The Rocket's hot breath hit his neck again with a wave of chills, but Lance was able to control his reaction this time. It almost felt…

The second cuff clicked open, and Lance snapped.

Proton didn't have time to pocket the cuffs before he felt a pair of fists jab into his stomach, pummeling him into breathlessness. He stumbled backwards, dropping the cuffs and key onto the floor, faltering in his attempts to regain balance. Lance leapt out of the chair, ducking low to sweep his leg under Proton's, knocking the executive to the ground with a low thud.

Lance stood, placing one boot lightly against Proton's back, perched between the rib cages. Proton only gave a wheeze of a moan in protest, trying and failing to worm from under Lance's step.

Without a word, the dragon master grabbed Proton by the collar of his jumpsuit and dragged him over to the chair. In one swift motion, he threw Proton into the chair, scooping the cuffs from the floor and locking them behind his back.

"You bastard!" Proton hissed, weakly struggling. "You-"

Lance smirked, placing two fingers on his mouth to silence him and a foot on the seat of the chair, right between the man's legs. He leaned in, his lips just under the man's ear, letting his own breath settle like smoke on the executive's neck.

"Let's call that a show of appreciation," he whispered, letting a hand roam across Proton's chest. "Too bad greediness only got you so far, yeah?"

Lance sat up, staring Proton down, admiring the shock in his face. "Get yourself out of these cuffs, then you can meet me at the Alistair at 8 tonight. I'll teach you how to _actually_ take someone on a date."

With a wink, the dragon master stood and, with one last light slap on Proton's face, retrieved his bag, resting against the desk. He opened it up with a sigh of relief; all of his poké balls still sat inside, untouched.

He fetched Dragonite from his bag and opened the window behind Proton's desk, feeling the winds, blowing furiously from the elevation, sweep through his hair. He turned to the bound executive, giving him one final cheeky wave, before leaping out into the mid-afternoon air.

Proton's mouth hung open, watching absently as he heard the roar of a Dragonite, a brief glimpse of orange, and then nothing at all. His thumb fiddled with the lock on the cuffs, making no real attempt to break free.

"Son of a…" he breathed, shivering from the sudden chill in the room. In spite of that, his heart felt warm. After all, he _did_ have a date tonight.


End file.
